Eden
by LuminaGlass
Summary: The human race has been divided into two: Radicals and Edens. Grayson Carstairs is an Eden; she lives in a Neutral Colony in space, since earth is unihabitable. Neutral Colonies have nothing to do with the war between Edens and Radicals, but when the Radicals attack Grayson's Colony, she can't help but get involved. Did the decision to save her friends ruin her life forever?
1. Prologue

Part One

This is all we know

"No human race is superior; no religious faith is inferior. All collective judgements are wrong. Only racists make them."

- Ellie Wiesel

Prologue

Rushing down the unfamiliar, stainless-steel corridor of the large Radical-spaceship, a scrawny, brown-skinned lady wearing unpractical high-heels, a knee-length skirt and a tight white blouse, makes her way to the darkest corner on the lowest level.

By the time she reaches the door of her destination, she is out of breath; a trickle of sweat drips down her spine.

There is no light in the corridor, and the woman prefers it that way: The chances of someone seeing her are lower.

_Why do they make these goddamned ships so big? _she thinks to herself, pinning her unruly black hair back into place.

The woman looks at her dark reflexion in the window to her left, ignoring the glitters stars that surround the spaceship, and straightens her blouse.

Her boss, who likes to be referred to as the Anarchist, expects nothing short of perfection, and that is exactly what she plans to give him.

After struggling for nearly ten minutes to regain her breath and composure, the lady manually slides open the door and flicks on the light.

Voice-command down here isn't active yet—the engineers haven't gotten round to installing it yet—and it annoys her; she is use to having things down by just saying the command out loud.

The sudden brightness momentarily hurts the woman's eyes, but they quickly adjust, and the room comes into view.

It is almost bare, occupied by only a glass-and-steel table with four matching chairs, a turned-off monitor on the wall to the left, a cabinet filled with tall glasses and plates to the right, and two men.

"I've found her!" she exclaims before either of the men can say anything. Her eyes are wild with animal-like excitement. This is what they've been working towards for many years. "I've finally found her!"

It has taken her the better part of two years, but she's finally managed to do it.

The man to the left—the nineteen-year-old mastermind behind all their plans; the Anarchist—stands up with questioning look on his handsome, sharp-featured face. "You what?"

The woman can't stop herself from smiling. She tucks a strand of hair that had somehow gotten lose again, behind her ear as she repeats what she had said.

She can see the pride in his eyes.

"That's excellent news!" the bulky man to the right says. His thick black hair is parted on the side and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. He is the oldest, and most resourceful, of the trio. "Where is she? When can we go get her?" He rubs his hands together eagerly, yearning, just like the woman, to please the Anarchist.

"She is in Nerian," she answers, sitting down.

"Nerian?" the man repeats. "But that's an Original Colony—Neutral-territory." He has a tendency to state the obvious. "How are we supposed to obtain her when she's a citizen of a Neutral Colony?"

The woman feels exasperated. Do they have to move onto phase two so quickly after finishing phase one? Can't they, for once, just relax for a night?

The Anarchist, holding up his hand to indicate his wish for silence, is way ahead of her. "We will worry about that in the morning. Tonight, we will celebrate; otherwise we might just drive ourselves insane trying to formulate some sort of fool-proof plan that is destined to fail in any case."

He smiles, then, and it takes every ounce of the woman's will-power to keep her composure. "And besides, it's not as if the girl is going anywhere."

"Brilliant idea!" the older man says, standing up and walking to the cabinet the woman had noticed earlier. He pulls out a green bottle of sparkling golden liquid and three tall Champaign flutes.

Then he fills all three flutes to their brims and hands one to the lady and one to the Anarchist, raising his own in the process. "To plans finally coming together."

The woman, holding up her glass as well, repeats the older man word for word, and soon after, so does the Anarchist, only he adds a part of his own to the end of the short sentence: "To plans finally coming to life; and to an empire reborn."

They empty five bottles of Champaign between the three of them and spend the rest of the early morning hours talking absolute nonsense that they will no doubt forget in a few hours.

By the time the woman leaves the two men behind and makes it back to her room, she is already half-way asleep.


	2. Chapter 1

"You can't hate the roots of a tree and not hate the tree."

- Malcolm X

Chapter One

We are the Eden

Date: 25th June, 5247

Time:10:43 a.m.

Place: Nerian Colony, approximately1, 5 light-years from Earth

_In the midst of a blood-drenched battlefield, I stand alone, wielding nothing but a broken pipe I had picked up somewhere along the road. The scattered remains of my fellow soldiers lay around me, amongst those of the enemies we'd managed to conquer. Earlier, I had still been able to tell one from the other; now I can no longer do that._

_With the back of my dirt-streaked hand, I wipe away the blood and sweat on my forehead, ready to push forward._

_"__Gray!"_

_At the sound of my name, I swing around, brandishing the steel pipe like a sword, ready to strike if the need arises._

_But, as it turns out, my makeshift weapon isn't needed: The person who'd called my name is on my side; a fellow soldier._

_He catches up to me easily. His charcoal-black hair is streaked with different shades of red and brown; blood and ash._

_His left eye is swollen shut and turning off-putting shades of blue and green and purple._

_But even beaten-up, bloody and shot to Hell and back, I still recognize his beautiful face. "Fallon," I whisper, dropping the bent pipe and reaching for him._

_The blueness of his unswollen eye is so vivid in the darkness that it reminds me of the lake behind my old primary school where we use to swim when we were children._

_Fallen cradles my face between his scarred, calloused palms and kisses me aggressively, refusing to let go until I cry out._

_"__Did I hurt you?" Fallon asks, worry colouring his familiar voice. He inspects every inch of me for some form of injury before reluctantly letting go and taking a very small step back._

_I laugh, which turns into coughing. The air around me is toxic, and it makes breathing difficult. "No, not at all. I just couldn't breathe." I look around me, at the burning buildings; the bodies on the ground; the sky black with ash. "Not that it's any easier now," I add with a sad smile._

_Fallon looks at the ground sheepishly, a ghostly smile playing at his lips. "Sorry." He takes another hesitant step back. "Where's your Gen?"_

_I shake my head. "I was ambushed by Edens earlier," I answer, hugging myself to keep the biting old at bay. "I ejected seconds before they managed to overwhelm and destroy me."_

_Fallon nods slowly. "Same here." For the first time since finding me, he notices the steel pipe I had dropped moments ago. He smiles. "Were you going to fight the entire Eden-military with nothing but a pipe?"_

_His comment makes me laugh, even in the worst of conditions. I bend down to pick it up again. "Of course. How else was I supposed to protect myself?" My voice grows serious, and my smile disappears. "And I—I wasn't sure if you were . . ." I trail off hesitantly. I don't want to say the word out loud._

_"__If I were still alive?" Fallon finishes for me. _

_I nod; a single tear escaping from the corner of my eye._

_"__What would you have done if I __had__ died," he asks shyly, not looking at me._

_"__I would've kept moving," I say quietly, hating myself. But as brutal as it sounds, I wouldn't have had another choice. I've come this far—giving up now would be an act of cowardice. And I am __not__ a coward._

_"__I understand," Fallon says, weaving his fingers through mine. "That's what I would've wanted."_

_I bite back the tears threatening to spill. "Let's go," I say quickly, tightening my grip on his calloused, __familiar__ fingers. "Before the Edens send reinforcements."_

_Swallowing past the fear in my throat, I take a cautious step forward and narrowly avoid stepping on a dead soldier's palm. Fallon follows my lead, clutching my hand so tightly that I can feel my fingers turning white._

_We make it about halfway to the other side of the dilapidated town when a building to our left explodes suddenly, sending the two of us flying in different directions._

_Fallon's name is the last thing that escapes from my lips before everything goes completely dark._

"Ms Carstairs, I am speaking to you!"

My eyes shoot open instantaneously and I find my teacher, Mr Keller, leaning over my desk with a sour expression on his face. "I do not know who this 'Fallon'-person you are referring to is, Ms Carstairs, but I can assure you that he will not pass your History-final for you. Now pay attention, or I'll fail you."

My classmates begin to laugh, finding her embarrassment amusing like always.

I mumble a half-hearted apology, more out of habit than anything else, feeling my face turn as red as my hair.

"I expect better from the daughter of Chief Commander Carstairs," Mr Keller says, returning to his desk at the front of the steel-and-chrome classroom.

"With all due respect, Mr Keller," I say, my eyes downcast. "But this is Neutral territory. My father's military-status means nothing here."

"Be quiet, Ms Carstairs," Mr Keller warns. "Nerian may be Neutral, but that doesn't mean its citizens are ignorant of the world. We all remember what happened to Effas."

I have nothing to say to his answer; nothing of substantial value anyway.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes! Imperialism." He takes a deep breath, and only for a moment, I allow myself to drift again:

Why had Fallon—a boy I haven't seen in three years—been in my dream? I can't even really remember what his face looks like; the exact shade his black hair use to be; the shape his beautiful blue eyes held. I remember almost nothing of my once-upon-a-time best-friend. Only his name and the sound of his voice.

"Ms Carstairs, pay attention."

I wake with a start, unaware that I had allowed myself to zone out so completely again. Another round of laughter travels through the classroom, and, not for the first time this week, I wish I can just crawl into a hole and disappear.

"Stand up," he orders harshly, running a hand through his thinning black hair. "I hope you've been studying, because I want you to give the class a summarized lecture on the history of the Colonies."

I sigh inwardly. _Good job, Grayson._ "From when, Sir?"

"Start from 5123, the Charles Dawn Decade."

Taking a deep breath, I gather my scattered thoughts and try to recall everything Mr Keller has taught me over the three years I've been unfortunate enough to be in his History class. "On the 27th of June, 5123, it was discovered that a geneticist called Charles Dawn, had found a way to manipulate a person's genes—to enhance them in order to create a sort of 'super-human'. It was also discovered that he had tested these theories of his on other humans.

"The Grimay-government was furious, and immediately sentenced Dawn to death. His execution took place on the 30th of June that same year, and his laboratory was burned to the ground a day after."

"Continue, please, Ms Carstairs," Mr Keller says when I don't speak for a few moments.

"Grimay's police-unit tracked down Dawn's test-subjects, killing them one by one, but the system they used was inefficient, so some of the subjects managed to escape the Colony in order to build their own home—a Colony called Dawks.

"The Enhanced—as the Ruling Government called them—grew in numbers and power—by5130 they had built five of their own Colonies and were powerful to the point of unbeatable. They called themselves the Radicals."

Mr Keller is pacing now, listening intently as I do his job for him. "Was this the end of the Charles Dawn Decade, Ms Carstairs?"

"No, Sir," I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. "The end of the Charles Dawn Decade was when the Radicals attacked and destroyed Effas on the 14th of February, 5133.

"Previous generations called this particular day 'Valentine's day'—a special day set out to celebrate love and the people you hold dear—but after the attack, it was renamed 'the Day of Blood', other wisely known as Aka Shi."

I look at Mr Keller, asking him silently if he wants me to continue. He nods, and for the first time ever, I don't get the feeling that he hates me. I can feel my classmates looking at me, their gazes burning holes into my skin.

I feel absolutely warm all over.

"After Effas was destroyed, the Ruling Government decided that they needed to retaliate. They formed their own military, and from henceforth, they called those who still had pure bloodlines, Edens.

"They built Eden-only Colonies, wherein the soldiers of the military and their families could live, and announced that the Originals would become Neutral-territory, where those who did not want to become involved in yet another war could in peace."

I know the Charles Dawn Decade like the back of my hand, but everything after that is still a little fuzzy. I've studied the history of the Colonies many times before, but the smallest of details almost manage to elude my somehow.

"The Edens declared war and struck Dawks—where the RFA-military's headquarters is located—where they managed to destroy half the Colony.

"This to and fro struggling is now referred to as the Cosmic War—Edens against Radicals in an unending battle for power. The Radicals, however, were stronger and faster and smarter, and thusly they always had the upper hand. Due to this, the Edens once again made use of Gen-technology—the same NanoRobotic-technology Adrianna LeeBritannia had used on Earth to win against her father's Imperial Army—to even the playing field."

Adrianna LeeBritannia and all her followers are now seen as heroes, but they are the very reason we can no longer live on Earth. The NanoRobotic-technology they had used to fight had polluted the air to such an extent that it was no longer safe for human life.

I want to add this to my lecture, but I know I can't. Saying something like this will get me kicked out of school.

"I have a question for you, Ms Carstairs," Mr Keller interrupts, his voice making it blatantly clear that he only tolerates me because of who my father is. "If Radicals and Edens can live in harmony here in the Neutral Colonies, why can't they do it outside as well?"

"The main reason for war will never change," I answer, recalling a program I had watched a few months ago about the modern warfare. "No matter if it's on Earth or here in space. People are never satisfied. Power and money have encouraged violent act through many generations, and that won't soon pass. If the RFA thinks itself a step behind the Eden-military, they will only fight harder to win, and vice versa." I look at my teacher with mutual distain. "To win a war, you must think like your opponent, and always be three steps ahead."

"Interesting, but you still haven't really answered my question: Why can some Radicals live in peace with Edens when others cannot?"

It takes all of my will-power not to scream at him for being a biased asshole right then. I can't blame Mr Keller for what he is, but saying something like that is just inappropriate.

He basically just insinuated that all of this is the fault of the Radicals, which is how this entire freaking problem started in the first place.

"Because people are different," I answer simply. "In every civilization, there are people who cling to the idea of peace, but there are also those who love the adrenaline of battle; and unfortunately, those who remain noble at heart are outnumbered by those to crave to kill."

For a moment, Mr Keller only stares at me, unsure of how to react. But his smile then returns and I can't help but feel proud of myself.

"Well said, Ms Carstairs. Good job."

The bell rings suddenly, loud and welcome, and I sit down with a sigh of relief, slowing packing up everything I've managed to spread out on my table over the short forty-five minutes of class—a silver tablet containing my schoolwork, an old spiral-bound notebook (which most Colonies don't even sell anymore), and a pencil as long as my pinkie (also no longer sold).

I leave the classroom with the words, _That's what I would've wanted_, echoing in the back of my head.

Something about the concept of Imperialism—the method used to distinguish one person from another—has always bothered me.

No, scratch that. Something about classifying race has always bothered me. Racism is what they used to call it, but the term was banned after the Rise—not that it does anyone any good. Imperialism is the same thing just with a different name, and against a different set of people.

Why do people need to be classified anyway? Why can't everyone just be equal and live like we do here in the Neutral Colonies? Why can't we just share everything? Why can't we just be satisfied for a change?

Sadly, I already know the single to all those questions: If everyone is equal, no-one will be left to do to the 'dirty work'; there will be no lower-class.

The truth is: Even though the Original Colonies claim not to be involved in the Cosmic War, they are more involved than anyone.

I know this, being the daughter of Chief Commander Carstairs, but I never tell anyone; it doesn't seem right to make other people worry.

On the surface, fighting is prohibited in the Original Colonies. The citizens who choose to live here are asked to sign multiple documents agreeing to these terms.

The Eden-military calls the inhabitants of the three remaining Neutral Colonies the Nowheres; the RFA calls them stupid.

Nerian, where I live, is a prime example of the perfect home. The Colony, like all others, is gated and protected by the Shield—an invisible umbrella-like thing that protects the citizens from harm. The Shield keeps anyone who is considered dangerous or unwelcome, out. It also ensures that no laws are ever broken.

My understanding of the original ideals of Cosmic Society is this: Radicals aren't supposed to be seen as the 'superior race'. Yes, they are stronger, faster, smarter, but that doesn't meant that they aren't human. Both sides want the same thing; they just don't know how to get it without slaughtering one another.

Edens claim themselves to be more discouraging towards juvenile behaviour, something which has now fallen to falsehood, and Radicals are rumoured to be more aggressive because of their manipulated genes.

When it was first discovered that some of the Enhanced humans had escaped the massacre, the Ruling Government had wanted to strike a deal: Life in return for soldiers.

The Radicals had declined this offer, pointing out that they were not objects to be used and thrown away.

In school, they are supposed to teach us about the Cosmic War and its participants objectively. That almost never happens anymore.

We—the Eden-born students—are taught to believe that the Radicals are dangerous and reckless and unpredictable. We are taught to stay away from them, to be weary of them, and to never trust them.

They, in return, are taught exactly the same things, just the other way around.

This system keeps the two sides away from each other, and as cruel as it is, it maintains the peace.

I find the concept of hating someone you've never met before absolutely ridiculous, of course, but what can I do about it?

With a resigned and tired sigh, I unlock the front door of my house and step over the threshold, entering the marbled foyer.

My father, Chief Commander Carstairs of the Eden-military, had built this house for me and my mother here in Nerian a few years ago so that we can be safe from the war while he's off doing God knows what.

And even though Nerian is one the safest Colonies to live in, my father had still made sure to construct the house with an impenetrable basement and bulletproof walls, doors and windows.

Our top-of-the-range alarm-system had even been upgraded last year. It's automatic now.

Within in the safest Colony in the universe, my house is the safest location to be at. It is point Alpha.

"Grayson, dear, is that you?" my mother calls down the hall from the kitchen.

Maria Carstairs is a homebody who loves cooking. Whenever I'm at school, Maria spends hours on end baking anything that can rot your teeth; when I'm home, Maris hovers over my like only a loving mother can.

"Yes, it's me!" I call back, heading for the stairs before my mother can gather enough time to put down whatever it is she's baking today.

"Come here quickly, would you?"

With a sigh, I leave my heavy, synthetic-leather schoolbag on the staircase and make my way to the kitchen, unsure of why my mother would want to see me in the middle of the day. Usually she waits until dinner, or at least until after I've finished my homework, if she has something important to talk to me about.

I find my mother in front of the stove, cleaning the top with a purple rag and something that smells strongly of iron and lavender.

I don't know why she bothers; all the appliances in our house clean themselves, so there is no need for her to do it as well.

Maria's posture is straight, abnormally so, and she doesn't look at me as I sit down by the counter where we usually eat dinner.

Meme and Mute bound into the room, Mute balanced precariously on Meme's brown shoulder.

All animals in the Colonies are robotic, because they are easier to control. Meme is the monkey that my mother had given me for my birthday two years ago, and Mute is a hummingbird that had belonged to Fallon before he disappeared.

I pick Meme up and place him on my lap, rubbing between his years.

My mother stops cleaning, then, but she still doesn't turn around to face me. It's almost as if she has to take a minute together her thoughts.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" I ask finally, unable to bare the quietness any longer. My mother is a chatty person; silence from her means trouble.

"Your History teacher called," she says with a tight voice. "He said you fell asleep in class today. Twice."

I don't say anything.

"Do you understand how serious this is, Gray? Getting a call from you school reflects poorly on your father, and he can't have that kind of negative press right now. Not with the Radicals doing everything they can to discredit him."

"My education is hardly of any relevance to his image," I mutter, a little too loudly.

Maria's gaze is sharp. "Grayson! You don't seriously think that, do you? Everything we do reflect on your father's 'image'. If the Radicals can convince the Edens—or even us here in Neutral-territory—that the leader of the Eden-military is abusive towards his family, what do you think will happen?"

I don't answer.

Mute attempts to tweet, but nothing comes out. She hasn't been able to make a sound since the day Fallon left.

"Gray, please tell me you understand how serious this is."

"I understand," I say to the floor. I don't like it when my mother is angry with me, especially when her anger is justified.

She sighs. "Will you tell me why you are falling asleep in class? Or should I draw my own conclusion?"

Meme jumps onto the counter, sitting down between my mother and me.

"And what would this 'conclusion' be?" I ask, trying to keep the venom out of my voice. I know she means well, and that she's only trying to help, but I don't need it. I can make my own decisions. What does it matter if I dream a little class anyway?

"I think you're spending too much time with those older friends of yours; and not enough in front of your schoolwork or in bed." Maria turns around and looks at me for the first time since I got home.

I scoff. "Firstly, can I just mention how completely ridiculous your 'conclusion' is?" When Maria doesn't say anything in return, I throw my hands into the air and groan out of frustration. "For God's sake, Mom, I'm in the Top Ten of my Year, and I get at least seven hours of sleep every night."

"Then why are you falling asleep in class, Grayson?! I just don't understand." She sits down in the chair on the other side of the island.

I flinch at the use of her tone. It's not sharp, which is the problem. I can handle sharp. Quiet is the one I'm afraid of.

Maria's features soften slightly, and she reaches out to rub Meme's ear. His tail was excitedly. "Help me understand, please."

Something falls into place, then, and it takes every bit of my will-power not to start laughing. She isn't doing this because she thinks something is wrong with me, she's doing it because my father thinks there's something wrong with me.

With my father away all the time, disciplining me falls on her shoulders.

"I didn't fall asleep in class," I say as answer, my tone softening now that I know that it isn't really my mom speaking. "I just zone out sometimes and start daydreaming. It's not because my older friends are bad influences—they aren't—or because of a lack of sleep. I'm fine, Mom, seriously."

With a sigh, the anger dissipates from Maria's face completely, and just like that, her usual bright smile is back in its place. "Your father thought it would do you good if I sat you down and had a serious talk with you, Gray; I wasn't trying to come off as angry."

I stand up and give my mother a hug. "It's okay. I'll talk to Mr Keller about some extra credit assignments if you think that will help."

Maria pulls away and looks at me. "It certainly won't make things worse. You don't mind, do you? I know you're very busy already."

"If it keeps Dad off your back, then n, I don't mind. I can make time."

She lets out a sigh of relief. "You are the best daughter in the world, and I love you." She reaches out and pulls a plate of cookies off the counter, handing one to Meme and another to me. "I love you, too."

"We have eyes on the girl," a hired soldier with sun-burned skin—artificial, of course, since everything in the Colonies is only illusions—informs the woman sitting in a wrought-iron chair a few feet away. "Are we to kill her?"

She looks at the soldier over the rim of her glasses, which she doesn't need, technically speaking, being a Radical and all, but they make her look a little more mature. "No. Just keep tabs on her. Tell me what she's doing, where she's going, who visits her; everything."

"Will do, Ma'am." He salutes and walks away, joining the rest of the hired team on the edge of the roof.

With the soldier gone, the woman picks up the silver tablet lying on the old-fashioned wrought-iron table beside her and turns it on. The screen comes to life abruptly, and she hurriedly opens the digital-folder containing all the information she needs to familiarize herself with. She starts reading:

Grayson Carstairs:

· Red hair, approximately 66cm in length

· Blue-green eyes, hazelnut-shaped

· Pale skin

· Eden-born, 10th August, 5263

· Third Year at Graythorn Academy (sixteen)

· Subjects: Advanced English, standard art, Fourth Year music, standard History, advanced French, advanced Latin, Fifth Year Algebra, advanced computer sciences

· Friends and relationships: Tatiana Monroe, Third Year; Hayes Patterson, Fifth Year; Callie Reymont, Fourth year; Leon Reymont, Fourth Year; Maria Carstairs, mother; Michael Carstairs, father

After school schedule:

· Monday: Piano (15;15 – 16:00), summer tennis (17:00 – 18:00)

· Tuesday: AV-club (15:15 – 16:00), singing class (16:45 – 17:30)

· Wednesday: Piano (15:15 – 16:00), choir practice (19:00 – 21:00)

· Thursday: Summer tennis (15:00 – 16:00), singing class (16:30 – 17:15)

· Friday: Choir practice (15:00 – 15:45), photography-club (16:00 – 17:00)

_This girl is an utter bore, _the lady thinks to herself, _why is the Anarchist so infatuated with her?_

To tell the truth, the woman is only jealous. She's jealous of the fact that this schoolgirl is getting all of the Anarchist's attention when she is the one deserving of it. She does all the work, makes all the plans, gathers all the information, but no matter what, he's attention is always on this girl.

_I can't believe he has me playing babysitter._

Out of nowhere, a weathered, handsome face appears next to the woman, making her jump. "What exactly is it that he sees in her that's so interesting? This girl seems very plain."

She rolls her eyes. "Tell me about it." She locks the tablet and puts it back on the table. "Though she does seem a little unreal. Did you see the subject she's taking? They're way too advanced for a sixteen-year-old Eden-born."

"I read through them briefly." The man waves a hand around, telling the woman that he'd probably only paged through them once. "Impressive. But not really all that special."

"That's where you're wrong," the Anarchist says with a laugh, scaring both his co-conspirators. He walks to the edge of the roof with a straight back and muscular arms folded over his chest. Once he reaches a spot where the artificial-sun can no longer bother him, he turns and looks at them through too-long, red-brown hair. "Grayson Carstairs is the only daughter—excuse my misleading choice of words; she is the only child—of Michael Carstairs." His voice holds a bittersweet malice; his eyes a lust for revenge of some sort. "In other words, the young Ms Carstairs is a very valuable asset."

"Yes, I got as much," the woman says irritably, trying to keep her voice low, yet failing miserably. Her annoyance is clear as day. "But why? Why is she such a valuable asset?"

The reasons for the Anarchist's childlike insistence on finding this girl have been a close guarded secret of his, but the woman thinks it's high time he tells them what they are—she and the other man deserve some answers.

"It means," the Anarchist says, drawing the last word out as for as long as he can, "that, not only does her head contain more unknown secret than the RFA-military, but she is also one of the few people who holds the balance of the war on the tips of her musical fingers."

He elaborates when he sees the blank, uncomprehending looks on the faces of his colleagues:

"If Grayson is killed by invading Radicals, her father will do everything in his power to slaughter the RFA-military. That way, we can sit back while they destroy each other, and pick up the pieces when they're done."

The woman smiles, finally understanding. The smile doesn't last long, though. "Why use Michael Carstairs' daughter? Wouldn't killing one of the Radical-princesses have the same consequences?"

The Anarchist doesn't miss a beat. "The Radical-princesses have been in hiding for almost ten years. No-one can find them. And besides, toying with the Edens is much more fun."

The smile returns. "You really are evil, aren't you?"

The Anarchist shrugs. "Evil is only a matter of perspective," he says, making his way back to the door through which he had come. "Let's go." He's talking to the other man. "Keep watching her. If she leaves her house, let me know immediately." And now he's talking to the woman. "I want to know every possible detail about Grayson's life. And," he adds as a sort of afterthought, "don't get caught. Nerian's government is a bitch when it comes to illegal weapons in its Colony."

"Will do," the woman says, returning to her tablet.

She doesn't even see the two men leave, but she hears the door slide shut with a hiss of finality.

"Grayson, time for dinner!"

Putting down my pencil with a sigh, I push my Latin homework away and head downstairs.

Just as I enter the foyer, I hear the voice that has haunted my nightmares for months; a voice that makes me stop in my tracks and my blood run cold as ice water.

My father.

"You need to enlist more discipline in his house, Maria!" Michael says angrily. "Grayson knows she needs to be downstairs for dinner at exactly seven o'clock; that's how I taught her. If you keep reminding her what the rules of the house are, she'll never learn to remember them on her own!"

I hear something bang down on the counter then; a pan, or maybe my dad's head. I smile at the idea.

As quietly as I can, I creep down the hallway, halting just outside the kitchen. Meme and Mute stand across from me, on the other side of the open doorway, also listening intently. Meme's tail is wagging nervously.

"Oh for the love of God, Michael! This argument is absolutely ridiculous!" my mother retorts with a tight voice. "And as long as you're off on some faraway planet, doing only you know what, I'll raise my daughter as I see fit!"

My mother dislikes shouting; she says it's no way to treat your vocal-chords. And to hear Maria put Michael in his place like that, using only her voice, frightens me more than my father does.

"I built this house for you, Maria, remember that. While you live here, you abide by my rules."

Unable to bear their bickering any longer, I step across the threshold and into the kitchen, anger burning in my eyes. "Don't talk to her like that."

Maria's head snaps up, her face a mixture of shock and shame. "Gray, sweetheart, how much of that did you hear?"

"Enough to make my wish that he would just die aboard one of those Godforsaken Eden-warships of his and get it over with already."

My father turns to me with a look of provoked rage on his handsome face. "Excuse me?"

I cross my arms over my chest defiantly, attempting to hide my shaking fingers. I can't lose my nerve now.

_Stand strong, Gray_, I tell myself, _do it for Mom._

"I wish the RFA would destroy all the Eden-warships already; maybe then we could live in peace." I don't regret the words after they leave my mouth.

Michael takes a dangerous step towards me, and every nerve inside me screams at me to get away. "Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Grayson."

"Gray, stop," Maria warns at the same time, forcing me to look away from my father. "I can handle this on my own, thank you."

"No," I say, because honesty, I don't think she can handle this on her own. "He can't just leave for months on end, then come home out of the blue and start changing things like he's been here the whole damn time!"

"Is that what you think? That I willingly leave you and your mother alone while there's a war going on outside?" Michael asks, nostrils flaring in anger.

I nod, mostly to assure myself that I'm doing the right thing by siding with my mother. "I think Nerian in a Neutral Colony—our government is perfectly capable of keeping the war outside where it belongs—and if you really wanted to keep us safe, you wouldn't come anywhere near here, because it's you they want." I take a deep breath, my resolve building with each passing second until it threatens to explode. "But you're too selfish to do that, aren't you? You need your family to tell you how amazing you are and how the Edens should be in control of everything." Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have the courage to say the things I'm saying now, but I'm already pissed at my father for making my mother be someone she isn't; him coming home always just ends up making me angrier. "But God help me, I will kill myself before I admit to any of that."

"Grayson!" Maria says sharply, clearly appalled.

Michael closes the distance between us easily, and before I even have enough time to react, he's slapped me. My head reels back under impact.

"Michael!" my mother shouts, sinking onto one of the nearby barstools and covering her mouth with her hand.

The conflict is obviously too much for her to handle.

"I've given you everything, Grayson!" Michael shouts into my face; spit flying off his lips in an angry shower. "And what do I get in return? An ungrateful daughter, that's what!"

"You've given me nothing," I retort sharply, careful not to raise my voice to a shout. I will not be the bad guy here. I will not allow this man to turn the situation around and make me seem like some ungrateful bitch. And I've come this far, there's no turning back now. "Only tears and nightmares."

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Meme and Mute cowering beneath a table.

Michael raises his hand a second time, and I cringe out of habit. But before he can strike, and prove my previous statement, Maria intervenes:

"That is enough! Both of you, stop it immediately!" she shouts, looking at the tiled floor. Her strawberry-blonde hair shields her face; shields her angry expression.

"Michael, don't you dare raise your hand to my daughter again, or you and I will have some problems to sort out; and Grayson, do not speak to your father like that."

Her voice is calm and controlled, but holds enough rage to bring the entire Colony to its knees.

Michael turns to her with a look of shock crossing his features, as if he can't believe that those words had just come from his wife's mouth; in a way, she had defended him. I, too, stand looking at my mother with unblinking eyes.

Maria continues: "We are not going to fight tonight. This is your first night home after three months away, Michael, and I want to have a nice family dinner, with my family. If neither of you have anything constructive to say to or about each other, you will not say anything at all. Am I understood?"

Reluctantly, I nod.

Michael's answer comes in the form of a grunt as he moves towards the head of the dining table; Meme and Mute scurry out from beneath it as fast as they can.

In an attempt to annoy him, I say, "That's where Mom sits."

My father glares at me with hateful eyes, but takes the seat across from my nevertheless. It occurs to me, then, for the first time that maybe he doesn't want to fight any more and I do.

I push the thought away. My father is evil; he is selfish.

The rest of the dinner is painful at best. No-one says anything, and my father spends his time brutally cutting his meat into uneven squares.

By the time Maria gives me permission to leave the table, I am left with the conviction that my father hates me.

Later that night, I pick up my tablet from the small table next to my bed and unlock it.

I had downloaded a romance novel—per recommendation of my best-friend, Tatiana—earlier this month that I hadn't had time to finish reading yet.

At first, I had found the book tedious, but I quite like it now. The chemistry between the two main characters, Tracey and Adam, interests me. I don't know much about love, and it seems to me as if Tracy and Adam do.

I find the folder I'm looking for on the home-screen and start reading:

_Tracey stood on the edge of the platform, her hands resting on the green-painted railing. The platform offered a view of the waterfall, magnificent just as Adam had said it would be, as well as the mountains and the trees in the background._

_The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in red and gold and orange. The sunset of Tracey's dreaMs_

_"__Tracey!" she hear her name from below. "Look down!"_

_Cautiously, Tracey stepped closer to the edge of the platform. She knew she couldn't fall, the railing was too high, but it still made her nervous._

_The deafening sound of wind and water filled her ears._

I look up, my heart pounding. Is Tracey going to fall? Will this be the end of their awesome love story? No, I can't be. Tatiana had promised that the novel didn't have a sad ending.

I read on:

_When Tracey finally managed to scrape together enough courage, she looked down and, just for a moment, her heart stopped beating._

_Then a smile broke out on her face._

_Adam, with his perfect black hair and vivid green eyes, stood on a small island far below the platform. He had a bullhorn in his left and what looked like a grin on his face._

_Next to him, packed neatly onto the sand, the words _TRACEY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?_ were spelled out in white stones. Tracey wondered if people would be able to see the sentence from space, so big were the words._

_"__Nod if you say yes," Adam called over the bullhorn. "Walk away if you say no."_

_As a joke, Tracey pretended to push away from the railing. Adam's face fell immediately. She turned back to him, laughing, nodding and crying at the same time._

_Adam looked relieved._

I turn the tablet off. I've read enough for one night.

I don't want to finish the book too quickly, because that means I'd have to find something else. I have no energy for that.

Sleep claims me the minute I order the light off.


	3. Chapter 2

"Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution."

- Vladimir Nobakov

Chapter Two

Welcome the Radicals

_"__Radical-attack destroys Eden-neighbourhood in Hessan—an Eden-colon. No residence of the neighbourhood has been found alive," _a reporter with wild, curly brown hair on the screen of my tablet says. _"This is the fourth attack on the Eden-military within an extent of two weeks. All Edens are advised to stay inside their homes or somewhere under the protection of the Military. More details will be given to the public as they become available to the media. Stay tuned."_

I pause the broadcast, turning the tablet off in the process.

My father had left four days ago, and, per request of my mother—who really does try her best to make everyone happy—my first extra-credit assignment for History is to watch the news, then write down a comparison between how things have changed from a hundred years ago to present.

I push my hair out of my eyes impatiently, and then add the news-report I'd just watched to what I've already written down:

_News report from 29__th__ June, 5147:_

_This day was listed by the Ruling Government as an average day in the Original Colonies. Everything was peaceful and there were no enemies to be dealt with._

_News report from 29__th__ June, 5247:_

_Today the Radicals attacked a neighbourhood in an Eden-colony: JT377—commonly known as Hessan. No-one who was listed as a resident of the neighbourhood has been found alive and all escape-pods on that side of the Colony are rumoured to still be intact. Citizens of various Eden-colonies and neighbourhoods surrounding Hessan have been advised to stay indoors if possible._

"Grayson Carstairs!"

I look at the sound of my name, nervously wondering what I've done wrong now, but I smile when I see that it's only two of my friends: Third Year Tatiana Monroe, and Fifth Year Hayes Patterson.

They're strolling across the courtyard as slow as humanly possible, since they have absolutely no reason to rush. This is in contrast to me, since I am always running from one place to the next.

Hayes slides onto the wooden bench next to me, and Tatiana sits down across from us, smiling broadly as she always does.

"What has you so exited, Tatia?" I ask, trying to ignore the feeling of Hayes sitting next to me.

Hayes is my Adam.

Ever since I read the part of Adam proposing to Tracey, all I've been able to do is daydream about Adam being Hayes and Tracey being my.

"Aced my math-test," Tatiana says with a twinkle in her large brown eyes. Her dad is a doctor at the Nerian Private Hospital just down the road from our school, and her mother is some kind of scientist; very smart, very opinionated people. But I've come to like them, so I don't really mind their blatancy anymore.

"Well done," I comment, returning my best-friend's smile. "Your dad finally accepted that you didn't make Fifth Year Algebra?"

Tatiana nods. "Finally, yes." She produces a think carrot-stick from her graffiti-ed shoulder-bag and takes a bite. "You've been scarce lately, Gray. Why do you insist on doing homework in free periods?"

"Because my mother has 'suggested' that I ask for extra-credit assignments in History, and Keller has blanketed me with so much work that I probably won't finish on time if I don't work twenty-four-seven," I say, only half serious. My mother's 'suggestions' are her specials ways of telling me that I really don't have much of a choice.

But there is another reason as well: Graythorn Academy's large campus is much more peaceful than my bedroom at home, and also a lot less distracting.

At home, I have a picture of me and Hayes standing on my desk, and I enjoy staring at him much more than I enjoy doing French or Latin homework.

"Sounds like fun," Hayes says, and then he asks Tatiana for one of her carrot-stick. She slides one across the table without looking at him.

"You see the news this morning?" Tatiana asks me, and I nod, looking at the grassy courtyard stretched out in front of the school's main-building. "You two?"

"Yeah." Tatiana sounds wistful. "Pretty grim. And sad. A whole neighbourhood destroyed for not reason; hundreds of people dead because the Radicals can't keep their tempers under control."

I close my eyes and bite my tongue until I taste blood. Tatiana is an Eden inside out, and it kills me that I can't tell her how much I disagree with her statement.

The Radicals aren't destroying Eden-neighbourhoods because they can't keep their tempers under control; they're doing it to prove that they will not stand to be treated like a lesser species—to remove themselves from under the hand of oppression.

They are doing exactly what the Edens would've done given the tables were turned.

But I am an Eden, and this prohibits me from arguing with Tatiana.

"It's sad, yes; but let's be thankful that neither the RFA nor the Eden-military are crazy enough to attack a Neutral Colony. Especially the one where the Facility of Medical Research is stationed."

Looking at this watch, then at me with his gorgeous brown eyes and half a carrot-stick hanging out of his mouth jokingly, Hayes says, "Bell's gonna ring. I'd start packing up if I were you—Keller will kill you if you're late." He raises one perfect brown eyebrow. "Tatia said he called your mother a few days to complain about your behaviour in class?"

A wave of petty jealousy briefly washes over my, but I ignore it. Tatiana and Hayes are just friends; there is nothing for me to be jealous about. Tatiana would tell me if something had happened between them.

With a sigh, I take Hayes's advice and pack my things away, putting my bag down on the bench next to me. "Yeah, he did."

"That's gotta bite," Tatiana comments unhelpfully, finishing her fourth carrot-stick. Or is her fifth? I'm not sure. Tatiana's curly, corkscrew hair is fanned out around her head like a halo, catching the golden sunlight. "What did your mom say? Did she do that thing where she scrubs the top of the stove until her fingers are practically bleeding?"

I laugh, and just as I'm about to say something, an alarm goes off.

The attack-alarm.

Tatiana stands up slowly, taking her time to stretch out and gather her things. "It's probably just a drill," she says when she notices Hayes and me looking at her strangely. "This is Nerian, people! One of the safest Colonies in the universe, if not the safest. And like you said, Gray, the Facility is in here; we're not being attacked." She gestures at the main-building with her head. "Let's go. Before Mr Keller gives us detention for not hurrying."

"Tatiana is probably right," Hayes says, rising out of his seat next to me as well and dusting off his grey school-trousers.

After a moment, I follow, ignoring the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes it hard for me to stay upright.

The three of us cross the courtyard to the activities hall together.

Tatiana is right: I find out from Mr Keller, who at this point is ticking off names on his tablet as students file into the activities hall, that the alarm is indeed only a drill; a test to see if the student-body of Graythorn Academy's reactions are still up to standard.

The results are inconclusive still.

"Let's go sit down," Hayes whispers into my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. He takes me by my elbow and steers me towards the corner closest to us, where Tatia is already waiting. The place where he touches me feels as if it's on fire. "I get the feeling this is going to take a while."

Just as I'm about to sit down next to Hayes on the grime-covered floor, I realize that I no longer have an immense weight dragging my left shoulder to the ground—I forgot my bag on the bench outside in the courtyard.

Whispering, "I'll be right back," to Hayes, I get up again, briefly explain to Mr Keller where I'm going, and then head for the door.

For some reason, when I look behind me, I see Hayes frowning. He looks somehow uncomfortable sitting alone with Tatiana.

Has something happened between them that I'm not aware of?

Whatever it is, I'll find out later.

Everything on campus is calm and serene and perfect. I run across the courtyard as quietly as I can, not wanting to disturb the peace.

Graythorn Academy is a bustle of movement most of the time. Students are always travelling from one class to the next; teachers run around in search of things that lay forgotten; bells ring every hour on the hour, and announcements are constantly being played over the intercoms.

Never a dull moment, I suppose. Never a quiet one either.

I spot my fake leather bag long before I reach the bench, and, with a sigh of relief, speed up my pace.

The dry Autumn-time leaves underneath my feet crunch loudly—ever more so in the utter silence.

I reach the bench slight out of breath and sit down, figuring that I still have some time before I need to start heading back. I marvel at the beauty that is Graythorn's large campus.

The main-building is an ancient Georgian-style mansion built of red brick with a high, sloping roof and big windows over-looking a big blue lake at the back. The front door is made of dark oak, finished with old-fashioned brass hinges and handles.

The grassy courtyard in front of the mansion is perfectly manicured and dotted with bright flowers. Tables and benches have been spread out on and around it.

Bright pink Cherry blossom-trees surround the gravel paths on either side of the courtyard, leading to the main-building's front steps—carved from pure white marble.

The rest of the campus is divided into different sectors:

The sports-sector surrounds the lake, where you can literally participate in any sport currently in existence. I usually avoid that part of the grounds.

The music-rooms and concert-hall border the main-building to the left, and the art-gallery and classrooms to the right; which is where I choose to spend most of my time.

Both the art and music-blocks were added to campus a few years before Tatiana and I started high school in 5245.

The science-sector is way at the back of campus, where the students can experiment as much—and as loudly—as the want without disturbing the rest of the student-body.

And all the 'mainstream-classes', as I like to refer to them as, like languages, History or Geography, and math, are given in the main-building.

A vibrating in my ear shakes me from my reverie.

For a moment, I don't know where I am or what I'm doing here, but slowly everything comes back:

I'm in the courtyard, fetching the bag I'd forgotten here, that's all.

The vibrating doesn't stop.

Normally I wouldn't answer the stupid CT-chip—which acts as both my cell phone and a tracking-device—my mother had had implanted into my left ear as a thirteenth birthday present, but when I hear the tiny machine say Hayes's name, I can' t resist.

I touch the tip of my ear softly and wait until a hazy image of Hayes appears in front of my eyes.

"Where are you?" he asks before I can say anything. His voice sounds oddly panicked, which is weird, since Hayes never sounds anything other than relaxed. The image is pixelated, which means that I need to have the CT-chip upgraded.

I sigh at the thought in my head.

Having a CT-chip implanted for the first time hurts; having one upgraded is excruciating at best.

"I'm outside," I tell Hayes. "I just want to catch my breath before I come back."

"Well, hurry up," he says with a scowl, which transforms his face from completely gorgeous to slightly frightening. "They're about to do roll call."

"I'm on my way now," I say standing up. I sling my back over my shoulder and take a step in the right direction. I don't really want to go back. "Cover for me if need be."

Hayes sighs. "Fine." He cuts the link for I can thank him.

I touch the tip of my ear again and the blue and white webbed screen disappears in an instant.

Just then, then alarm starts screaming again and I flinch, the high-pitched noise surprising me. I start in the direction of the activities hall, but I can't ignore the feeling that something is very wrong this time. The alarm seems almost softer, as if it's further away than before.

Feeling the panic rise in the pit of my stomach, I speed up my pace.

_You're safe here, Gray,_ I tell myself, chanting the words in my head like a mantra.

But when the wind grows considerably stronger and the synthetic sky turns into a murky shade of dark grey, a different thought pushes its way into my head.

I came to a standstill, fear freezing the blood in my veins and disabling my ability to move forward, as the realization dawns on me.

The Colony is actually under attack.

_It can't be_, I try to convince myself. _You're overreacting._

But I am not as ignorant as my friends.

Barely five seconds later, a voice over the intercom-system confirms my fear: _"All citizens of the Nerian-colony, take cover; this is not a drill. I repeat: All citizens of the Nerian-colony, take cover; this is not a drill."_

She doesn't say more than what is absolutely necessary.

Large black and blue hovercrafts appear in the murky sky above me, trailed by thick clouds of very real smoke.

Black and blue are RFA-colours, which means that the Radicals are attacking by means of air. I feel the blood draining from my face. It won't take them very long to destroy the Colony that way.

I don't know much of Radicalism—or what it means to be Enhanced—partly because they don't include it in the yearly syllabus, but mostly because I've never really had the urge to learn more about the way they live or what they believe in. There has to be reasons for why they live the way they live—and not the reasons that the Eden-military is giving us—I just haven't cared enough to find out what they are.

I had asked my mother once, when I was a little girl, why the Edens disliked the Radicals so much, but Maria had only laughed and called me a silly child.

I haven't brought it up again.

Now, standing outside on my own in the midst of the first Radical-attack on Nerian since its construction, I get the feeling that I should've pushed a little harder.

My senses return to me all at once and I start to move again, sticking as close to the shadows as possible. As I run, I try to recall the set of rules my homeroom teacher of three years ago had insisted on forcing into my head in the event of an air-raid:

1. Stay out of the open.

2. Be under the surface is possible.

3. Never go outside if you are already inside your predetermined safe location (the activities hall).

4. Remain calm and quiet.

5. Be as close to the ground as possible when travelling to your predetermined safe location (the activities hall).

6. Hurry!

I push my hair off of my forehead impatiently and grind my teeth together. There are two paths I can take: Across the courtyard—which is the quickest way—and then around the corner; or along the wall, through the main-building and concert-hall, down the steps and then across the cafeteria—which is the safer option, but much longer. And if only one door is locked, I'd have to turn around and start again.

Making a split-second decision, I step away from the little protection that the wall offers me and into the dangerous openness of the once-quaint courtyard.

Everything that had seemed so peaceful a moment ago, now holds malice and evil.

The flowers seem dead; the trees swing and moan viciously in the wind; the school seems abandoned.

I run as fast as I can this time and make it so the other side in a few seconds—the fastest I've ever had to cross the grassy expanse of land.

The wall on the other side is the softest of embraces, and I sag against it, struggling to keep my mounting panic under control.

Why haven't they started dropping bombs yet? From what I've seen on the news, it usually only takes the RFA seconds to destroy a Colony. Why is Nerian any different?

_And like you said, Gray, the Facility is in here; we're not being attacked._

Tatiana's word echo in the back of my head, and I suddenly realize why they haven't officially started the attack yet: They're looking for something.

The alarms are no longer blaring and the woman on the intercom has gone quiet—everything seems almost peaceful again.

If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine that none of this is happening; I can pretend that I'm still sitting with Tatiana and Hayes, talking about Mr Keller's undying dislike of me. Slowly, I open my eyes again.

I can't pretend. No matter how hard I try—and how much I want to—I can't pretend that my life isn't in danger; that all of my friends and classmates aren't sitting in the activities hall right now, probably minutes away from being shot to pieces by invading soldiers.

With the image of Tatiana, Hayes, and my other to close friends, Callie and Xavier Reymont, lying lifeless on the dirty floor, blood soaking their school uniforms a darker shade of crimson, I push forward and round the corner, only to come to a stop yet again.

In front of my, slightly to the left, stands a dark green and grey Gen—large, military-grade fighting-machines like the ones Adrianna LeeBritannia had used on Earth, only bigger and stronger—that towers high over my four-storey school. I marvel at the machine in awe. I've only ever seen Gens on the news; never in real life.

But that's only because Gens aren't allowed to enter Nerian.

The machine is stationary, and a young-looking boy with pitch-black hair is standing near its feet, talking to someone I can't see. His back is to me, and I notice that he's wearing a blue and black soldiers' uniform—navy-blue blazer, constrictive-looking black trousers, and combat boots—with a gun strapped to his thigh.

I step in behind the closest Cherry blossom-tree to avoid being seen, and listen.

"Yes, we found the machines beneath the school," the boy say. "But there are no students; they seem to have evacuated already." His voice is eerily familiar, but I can't match it to a face.

_He's a __Radical__, Gray¸ _I think irritably, annoyed that my thoughts are drifting to places that are of no relevance. _Why the hell would you know him?_

But even with the thought spinning around in my head, I can't shake the feeling of familiarity.

"We've searched the entire school, and we can't find them!" he says is a harsh whisper. "I've sent Caleb to do another round, but I doubt we'll find anything."

I let out a breath; one I hadn't noticed I was holding.

If the invades haven't found any of the other students yet, it means that the teachers have taken them to through the underground tunnels to the escape-pods.

For now, my friends are still safe.

The boy has started pacing, counting something on his fingers frantically. "Fine. Fine! I'll see what I can do."

Seconds later he falls silent, leaning against the bulky leg of his Gen.

_"__All Radical-soldiers are to evacuate the Colony immediately, as warfare in Nerian is strictly forbidden. Drastic measures __will__ be taken to expel you from the city if you fail to heed this warning," _my father's voice resonates over the intercoms, enveloping me in the sound I hate the most. _"I repeat: All Radical-soldiers are to evacuate the Colony immediately, as warfare in Nerian is strictly forbidden. Drastic measures __will__ be taken to expel you from the city if you fail to heed this warning."_

Briefly I wonder when my father had come back. He's usually gone for a few months.

The boy slams his fist against the base of the Gen, scaring me out of my reverie. "Dammit!"He touches the tip of his ear, just as I had done earlier when I spoke with Hayes, and waits for whoever he's calling to answer.

"Caleb!" he says after what feels like an excruciatingly long moment of silence. "Have you found anything yet?"

There is more silence as the boy waits for whoever Caleb is to answer.

"You're sure?" the boy asks. "Okay, I'll meet your there in ten minutes. Don't use your Gen just yet; don't engage in combat unless it's absolutely necessary; and try to stick to the shadows. The Edens will be here soon by the sound of it."

The boy disconnects the call and checks his gun, first making sure that no-one is watching him from somewhere unseen. His gaze sweeps past the tree behind which I'm hiding, and, in an attempt to better conceal myself, I take a hesitant step back . . . and end up tripping over the root of the tree and falling flat on my face.

For a moment, I feel like Clumsy Gray from back in Third Grade.

I'd been chasing after Tatiana on the playground one day when I slipped and fell, hitting my head on the edge of some concrete stairs.

My left eyebrow is now permanently split in two.

When the soldier's gaze rests on me, I know my chances of getting away are slim. I take another hesitant step back, excruciating pain shooting up my leg, and try to figure out what my next move is going to be.

Thus far, my options, like my face at this moment probably, look bleak:

If I ran, he'll just shoot me; if I stay rooted to the spot, he'll probably shoot me as well. Either way I end up with a bullet through my head.

Then suddenly, the boy cripples to the ground, a cry of agony escaping from his lips. I step behind the tree again with a wince and watch as a soldier dressed in a dark green and grey uniform appears from behind the Gen.

An Eden-soldier.

_They're here already?_

Just as I think this, multiple Eden-spaceships fill the sky in perfect synchronization, heading in the direction of the school's football fields.

I look from the dark sky to the boy on the ground, and a memory suddenly flows into my head; one of me and a boy I use to know:

_"__Slow down, Gray!" Fallon shouts, running up the gravel-path behind, trying his best to catch up. I laugh, speeding up instead of slowing down._

_When I hear him cry out, however, I come to a complete standstill. I turn around quickly and run back to where he has collapsed on the ground, clutching his chest and heaving as if he had just run a marathon._

_"__Is the pain back again?" I ask in a small voice, kneeling down beside my best-friend. He seems almost too frail to touch._

_Artificial-thunder booms loudly, and I grind my teeth together to stop from crying out. Fallon needs me; I can't seem frightened now because the weather-panel chose __today__ to administrate a thunderstorm in the Colony. To calm my nerves, I tell myself that it isn't real; that nothing in here is real._

_Fallon's answer to my earlier question comes in the form of a nod; he looks everywhere except at me._

_Even at only ten years old, Fallon is embarrassed to admit to his rare heart-condition; to the fact that he needs a little more help than other children his age. He says it makes him feel like a lesser person; it makes him weak. He once even told me that his heart-condition is the reason his father had decided to leave his mother._

_I don't see him as weak, of course; I think his condition makes me twice as strong as anyone with a healthy heart._

_Sitting up with a great effort, Fallon reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieves a small white pill-container. He dry-swallows one and looks at me with frightened blue eyes. "I don't want to be like this anymore, Gray," he says quietly, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye. "I want to be strong; I want to be someone you can rely on."_

_As he says this, fat drops of rain start pouring down from above, soaking us both within seconds. The wind blows my short red hair into my face, and I push it away impatiently, rivulets of water trailing down my forehead._

_"__I don't want someone strong," I say softly, taking his thin, fragile hand in my own. "All I want is you, Fall, as my best-friend. Forever and always."_

_"__Grayson, Fallon, come inside!" a shadow calls from the inside of Fallon's house. "Mom says you'll catch a cold if you stay outside in the rain."_

_Fallon's older brother, Haylan, appears in the doorframe, beckoning me and Fallon inside with a wave of his hand._

That's all I can remember of that day; and I'm not even sure that I'm remembering it correctly.

There is one thing I do know, though, and that is this: The soldier lying on the ground is Haylan Pearce—my best-friend's older brother; a boy I had once looked up to.

But that doesn't make sense. Both Fallon and Haylan are Edens like me. Why is Haylan dressed like a Radical-soldier?

Without thinking, I grab the silver switchblade I stow in my bag in case of emergencies, and throw it at the advancing Eden. My mind is screaming at me to stop what I'm doing and run while I still can.

Surprisingly, the knife buries itself in the soldier' left arm and he drops his gun, staggering back.

I take his moment of stunned confusion to run to Haylan—Hayle, as Fallon and I use t call him. "Give me your gun," I say quickly, pure adrenaline fuelling my every action. I have no idea how to use a gun, but I know that if I can throw a knife somewhat accurately, I can pretend I know how to pull a trigger.

Haylan looks at me with a spark of recognition in his vivid blue eyes—eyes that remind me of Fallon—but doesn't respond, so I bend over him and pick up the small pistol that he had dropped when the Eden-soldier had taken him by surprise. I'm careful not to touch the place where he'd been shot—that that I can see where that is.

Haylan groans.

While I awkwardly point the foreign object at the now-again advancing soldier, my mind screams: _This is stupid, Gray! He's an Eden, just like you! Drop the gun and let him do his job._

_But Haylan is also an Eden! _I shout back at my swirling thoughts. _There has to be a reason he's fighting for the Radicals!_

I try to ignore the turmoil going on inside my head and stand on shaking legs, my grip wavering just slightly. "Don't come any closer," I stutter, cold-sweat dripping down my spine. "Or I'll shoot."

The Eden-soldier plucks the knife from his upper-arm, tosses it to the ground as if it is nothing, and laughs. "You're just a silly little schoolgirl; what damage can you really do?" he says harshly. "And besides, why would you want to shoot someone who's here to protect you?"

I aim the barrel of the gun just slightly to the man's left and pull the trigger.

He jumps, but doesn't stop moving forward.

"You have to kill him," Haylan croaks weakly, clutching his left shoulder. Blood soaks dark uniform and seeps through his now-pale fingers. "Or he'll kill us."

I hesitated, and the Eden-soldier takes that moment to prove Haylan's point: He aims his gun at my left leg and pulls the trigger without hesitated, a nasty grin on his sweaty face.

I tumble to the ground and scream out in agony, dropping the gun and clutching at my leg tightly in an attempt to numb the pain. Tears stain my cheeks and my vision swims dangerously; the world becomes blurry.

"Nice job, idiot," Haylan says, but he isn't talking to me; he's talking to the Eden. "You just shot yourself out of a job."

The Eden looks at Haylan; even I don't know what Haylan is implying.

Haylan rolls his eyes. "For God's sake," he says, sounding impatient. "You just shot the Chief Commander's daughter!"

I want to laugh, but I stop myself. Only a Pearce would want to find the irony in a situation as dire as this one.

Realization dawns on the soldier's face, but it's gone in an instant: Haylan has pulled the trigger. The man is dead before I can ever comprehend what has happened.

Haylan screams, and I turn to him in time to see him writhing in agony, clutching his arm tightly.

With the shock of witnessing someone die in front of my own eyes settling into my skin, I momentarily forget about the pain travelling up and down my own leg.

Haylan asking, "Are you alright," after what feels like forever brings me back to the here and now. Nauseating pain overtakes me again and a high-pitched scream involuntarily escapes from my lips. I regret showing such a weakness in front of Fallon's older brother immediately, but what can I do about it? Absolutely nothing, that's what.

My eyes started drooping, and before I can stop it, everything goes black.


	4. Chapter 3

"There is no dignity in wickedness, whether in purple or rags; and Hell is a democracy of demons where all are equal."

- Herman Mellville

Chapter Three

Against those you claim to love

"Thank you again for the tip," the Anarchist says to the boy with the bright blonde hair. "It helped a lot."

"Where is my sister?" the boy asks, grinding his teeth together. "You promised you'd give her back if I told you what I wanted to know."

The Anarchist waves his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. I am well aware of what I promised you." He turns to the burly, black-haired man standing next to him. "Go fetch the girl, please."

The man disappears through an arch at the back of the cavernous room, and comes back a moment later, dragging a young girl with blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes behind him by her thin wrists.

"Did you hurt her?" the boy asks, hurrying across the room to his sister.

The Anarchist yawns. "Of course not. Despite what you might think, I am not a monster."

The girl leans against her brother weakly, almost unable to keep her head up or her eyes open.

She's a beautiful girl, and under different circumstances, the Anarchist might've felt himself drawn to her—but she's only a bargaining-chip.

Sort of like a shot-term version of Grayson Carstairs.

"You'll have to excuse me for a having a different opinion," the boy spits, and then he disappears through the door, supporting his sister all the way.

A brown-skinned woman with curly hair enters the room shortly after. "Was the boy of any use?"

The Anarchist smiles wryly. "Yes, very. Those Edens are too easy to manipulate. He gave me everything I asked for the moment I told him his sister would suffer if he refused." He turns to the man. "Make sure those two are captured during the Radical-invasion."

The man nods and disappears.

"Have they started yet?" the woman asks, pushing her unnecessary glasses up on her dainty nose.

Absentmindedly, the Anarchist nods. "If they're sticking to the schedule I have them, they should've just about entered the Colony." He turns away from the woman and turns to the door through which the boy and his sister had left. "But the funny thing about Radicals is, they tend to be unpredictable."

When I finally get my eyes to open again, Haylan has somehow managed—with only one useful arm, as it seems—to stand up, holster his gun, and hide the Eden-soldier's body in the shrubbery underneath one of the windows.

I try to stand up; wanting to get as far away from Haylan and his Gen as possible, but my leg won't allow it.

"Don't bother trying," Haylan says shortly, not looking at me. "You won't get for with a leg like that."

He's referring to the thumbnail-sized bullet-hole in my left thigh, which has been roughly bandaged with the sleeve of my red school sweater.

With a sigh, I settle back, hating how the dust sticks to my sweaty palms, and I bid my time studying the back of Haylan's head:

His hair is still the same shade of charcoal black it had been when Fallon introduced us for the first time; the triangle-shaped birthmark on the back of his neck is still there, unnoticeable to anyone who doesn't know what he's looking for.

My gaze travels down the rest of him.

Haylan had been a skinny, fragile child while we were growing up, just like Fallon, but looking at him now, I wouldn't have guessed it. He's gained some muscle over the last two or three years. I won't call him bulky, but he's definitely bigger. Lean, is the word people might use to describe him.

I briefly wonder if Fallon looks like his brother now. Considering the fact that I haven't seen either of the Pearce-brothers in little over three years, the possibilities are big.

When Haylan turns around and crouches next to me—his injured arm haphazardly bandaged with the other sleeve of my sweater, I notice that he also no longer has the round face he used to have. His jaw-line and cheekbones are more defined now.

Haylan slowly undoes the makeshift bandage from around my wound and inspects it while I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying. Then he abruptly stands up again.

"Stay here," he says in a harsh, dry voice, as if me being shot in the leg while protecting him is some kind of inconvenience. "Don't move an inch."

I roll my eyes. _As if I have a choice here_.

Haylan takes a few steps towards his Gen before turning around and adding: "And for God's sake, Grayson, if you move just because I said you shouldn't, I will leave you right here to bleed out. Understand?"

I nod, not knowing what else to do.

Haylan returns five minutes later with a needle filled with blue-ish liquid in his right hand.

I try to scramble away, but again,, my leg doesn't allow me to.

A ghost of a smile plays on Haylan's lips as he crouches down next to me again. "Still afraid of needles I see."

Before I have enough time to form a proper and witty response, Haylan plunges the needle into my neck, and everything in my body goes slack. I fall against Haylan's hard, muscular chest, paralyzed briefly.

"That should numb the pain," he says as he helps me sit up. His words are clipped and cold, but his touch is soft. "You'll be fine until I can get you back to the ship."

I don't fully register what he'd said until he's almost halfway to his Gen again. I feel myself gaining control of my body once more as the serum evaporates from my system.

"Haylan, wait!" I shout, struggling to my feet. The pain in my thigh is still there, but at least now it's bearable. "What do you mean you're taking me back to the ship? What ship?"

Raking a hand through his hair, Haylan turns back to me. "I have to, Grayson," he says, sounding formal and rigid. "You've seen too much."

"Too much of what?" I ask with a high voice, but he doesn't answer. I take a wavering step away from him. "You can't take me with you." I won't leave me Colony aboard a vessel of the enemy.

"I have to," he repeats.

I switch tactics: "The people aboard your ship will use me as some sort of political bargaining-chip!"

This makes him look at the ground, torn. "What do you want me to do, Grayson?" he asks quietly.

Before I can answer, a tremor rungs though campus, shaking the ground. The Colony's structure moans in protest. I look behind me just in time to see the giant Eden-warship taking off from the Graythorn Lake-area. "Please, Haylan," I beg, feeling like an invalid. "Just let me go."

"Where's the school's entrance to Nerian's underground-tunnels?" Haylan asks, covering the distance between us easily. He has to shout for me to hear him above all the noise plaguing the sky.

I shake my head. "I can't tell you."

The Radicals are looking to kidnap the people of Nerian and use them in some twisted way; if I tell Haylan where the entrances are, I can just as well paint the word TRAITOR on my forehead in neon yellow and get it over with. I'd rather die than let my friends suffer.

Haylan narrows his beautiful eyes dangerously, taking hold of my left arm in his iron grip. "Why the hell not? I can't save you if you don't tell me, Grayson; taking you back to the ship with me will be my only other option." His words hold equal parts threat and warning.

Another tremor runs through the ground and I momentarily lose my balance, falling against Haylan's injured shoulder.

He winces, but doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he takes my hand and drags me towards the awaiting Gen.

"Stay here," he orders for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. I want to laugh—I can't run even if I want to.

Haylan begins his ascend to the machine's cockpit.

"Where are you going?" I ask, panic rising in my throat. As much as I don't want to be anywhere near Haylan and his machines, being away from him seems almost worse.

"You can't climb with your injured leg," Haylan shouts. "I'll lower the ascension-cable for you."

I wait with baited breath for Haylan to secure himself in the Gen's open cockpit and then lower the ascension-cable for me.

A steel cable as thick as my ring-finger then unwinds from the machine's 'shoulder' with a whir, to almost an inch above the ground.

"Hook your foot onto the latch and hold on tight," Haylan instructs shortly, and I do what he says, even though every fibre in my being is shouting at me to turn and run, or crawl, or whatever. As long as I get away from this machine.

But I don't listen. Not even thirty seconds later I'm in the cockpit, squashed uncomfortably between the machine's frame and the left side of Haylan's lean body.

Haylan starts the Gen, then he flips the keyboard down over his lap and starts typing things that should probably be a lot more complicated.

I'm a high-school student—a civilian, no less—but I understand everything written on the screen in front of my eyes.

"Damn those Edens," Haylan says to no-one in particular, his scarred fingers flying to and fro over the keyboard, as if he can't quite decipher the machine's code. "They said this would be easy!"

I don't say anything. Not because I don't know what to say, but because I don't know how to say it.

I know how to start the Gen, but how would I justify doing something so destructive? How would I be able to live with myself knowing that I helped a soldier destroy my home? With that in mind, my options look even bleaker than before.

Maybe if I help Haylan get the thing started, I can convince him to drop me off somewhere safe—near my house maybe.

"Move up," I say hesitantly, before I think better of it. In my mind's eye, I see my fellow Edens looking at my disapprovingly. "I know how to decode it."

Haylan scoffs. "This isn't a toy, Grayson," he says shortly, not moving.

"And I am not a child, Haylan," I shoot back, "now move. We handled programs like this in Computer Sciences last semester; I have a better shot at understanding it than you."

Nothing.

I try another approach: "The next tremor might kill us if we don't move right now."

When he continues to ignore me, I decide to play dirty: I bring my elbow down on his wounded shoulder and use the few seconds that he takes to scream out in furious agony-and to grab his gun from his thigh—to push him aside with all my remaining strength and position myself in front of the monitor. "Sorry," I mutter just as a full-powered explosion ricochets through Graythorn Academy.

I bite the inside of my cheek. _Please let them be okay. Please let them be alive._

Ignoring the fear spreading through my body, I restart the machine.

The engineers who had built this Gen had made sure that not just anyone can get into the system; which means that the thing won't move properly.

Smart.

"The OS is password-protected," I tell Haylan without taking my eyes of the screen. If I don't look at my captor, I can try to pretend that I'm helping an Eden reprogram his tablet. "Until it's broken, you won't have access to anything."

"Well, can you break it?" Haylan asks, pressing the muzzle of the gun into my shoulder.

_Like you're giving me a choice_, I think snidely.

His tone has changed somewhat, telling me that he's finally acknowledged that I am no longer the ten-year-old girl who'd played in the dirt with his kid brother. He doesn't take the gun away, though.

"I can . . . if you just give me a minute."

TRAITOR echoes through my mind, bouncing around on the backs of my eyelids. I try to ignore it, but it doesn't work.

After bypassing a few firewalls, changing the multiple passwords protecting the machine's mainframe to 1-2-3-4, and rewriting the OS from a system that an Eden can understand, to that which a Radical can understand, I lean back and breathe a sigh of relief.

It shows everything outside to the left of the Gen—not that there is much to see: A dark stretch of lonely gravel and a few furiously swaying trees. My old life, that's what I see.

"Thanks," Haylan says, struggling back into his previous position in front of the monitor. He drops the gun into his lap.

While Haylan struggles to figure out how to get the machine to move forward, I allow my mind to wonder:

Why are there Gens in Nerian? Neutral Colonies aren't involved in the Cosmic War—they aren't allowed to be involved.

Being cut off from any and all forms of warfare is what makes a Neutral Colony neutral.

And from what I've gathered, these Gens don't even belong to the Radicals; they belong to the Edens. Why would the Radicals come all this way to steal machines they can't even pilot?

"How do I turn the video-feed on?" Haylan asks, shaking me from my thoughts.

I scrutinize the main monitor, studying every inch of it. "It depends on what you want to do," I say after a while. "Do you want an enlarged view of what's going on outside, or do you want to link another Gen's pilot?"

"Link another pilot," Haylan says immediately.

I explain to him what to do up until the point where the machine asks for the data-code of the Gen Haylan wants to link.

He types: "GX005 Poseidon."

"Is that the name of the Gen?" I ask, fascinated by how the military could give a machine with such a simple mainframe, such a complicated name.

Haylan nods almost reluctantly. "This is the GX004 Ares; there are four more of this particular Gen-model."

Seconds later, the masked pilot of the GX005 Poseidon appears on the screen in front of me and Haylan.

"Caleb, is that you?"

The pilot pulls the helmet from his head, revealing soft-looking, almost-blonde curls and a friendly face. "Yeah, it's me." His grey eyes are question marks. "Who's your friend in the uniform?"

Haylan shakes his head, and I feel myself blush. "I'll explain later. Where are Nickel and the twins?"

"On their way back to the ship last time I heard. I spoke with Crim a moment ago and she said everything went according to Albert's plan on their side," Caleb answers. "We should probably head back as well, before the Edens figure out we've stolen their Gens."

So my suspicions were right. The Gens do belong to the Edens.

But that still doesn't explain what they're doing in Nerian.

"How'd you get it to move?" I ask before I can stop myself. Sighing, I go on, figuring that I might as well, "The OS is Eden-based; Radicals shouldn't be able to figure it out." My voice comes out louder than intended.

Caleb looks at me as if really acknowledging my presence for the first time; there's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "You've got a smart stowaway there, Hayle," he comments before answering my question, "And Eden-mechanic was kind enough to offer me some assistance."

The way he says the word 'assistance' makes me think that he might not have given the poor mechanic much of a choice.

"Hayle! Hayle help!" someone shouts out of nowhere. A second person then suddenly appears on the screen, dividing it in two.

This time it's a girl. She has shoulder-length black hair accentuated with a hot-pink streak down the right side and a tattoo of some sort on her left bicep. A deep-looking gash runs down her cheek, parallel to her sharp cheekbone.

"Crim?" Haylan leans forward with a tense body. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Are you alright?"

I smile secretively. Fallon had done that as well, asking question after question, never waiting for an answer. The Pearce-brothers are so much alike that it almost makes me miss Fallon from scratch. Almost.

He'd left me without a word goodbye. That wasn't something easily forgiven.

Tears stain Crim's cheeks, and she looks almost scared, but not quite. There's a fierce determination behind her intelligent green eyes. "I can't find Prim!" Crim says, clearly biting back a fresh wave of tears.

"What do you mean you can't find her?" Caleb asks, including himself in the conversation. There is a certain tenderness in his voice; one that speaks of something he won't admit.

"We were attacked at the last moment; right after I spoke with you, Caleb," Crim explains. "I managed to get into my Gen with only a scratch, but by the time I was far enough away from that damned Research Facility to stop, Prim was nowhere in sight."

Prim and Crim? I've never heard names more Radical-sounding than those.

"Hayle, she'll do something stupid if I'm not there to stop her," Crim goes on. "She'll get herself killed! We have to find her."

I know the feeling, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. Considering the circumstances, it won't be of much use. The feeling of uselessness.

Then an idea comes to mind: "Do any of you know the data-code of the machine Prim was supposed to pilot?" I ask, startling Haylan. Why are you helping them? I ask myself silently. I know the answer, of course: Because of Haylan.

Crim regards me coldly. "And who are you?" she asks snidely. Her vibrant eyes jump from me to Haylan and back, calculating the worst.

Before I can answer, Haylan intervenes, saving me, "She's an old friend, Crim; you can trust her."

Crim throws her hands into the air out of frustration. "I don't know which one she took; these machines all look the same to me! And besides, why does it matter?"

I roll my eyes in my head, deciding that I don't like this girl. "If you know the data-code of her machine, you can use Haylan's machine to track her general location," I explain slowly. "This is the 004 Ares, and Caleb as the 005 Poseidon. Which one do you have?" I try to keep the snide out of my voice. "The calculation won't be spot on, but it'll help."

Crim thinks, closing her eyes tightly. When she opens them again, I can see new understanding. "I have the GX003 Athena." She allows herself a brief smile, showing off perfect white teeth—teeth only Radicals can have.

"And Nickel has the GX001 Zeus," Caleb chimes in, struggling with the pronunciation of the final word. It's cute.

"That means Prim has to have the GX002; the Hestia," Haylan concludes.

Zeus. Hestia. Athena. Ares. Poseidon.

The names sound familiar, as if I've learned about the people they'd belonged to somewhere along my life. If I make it out of this situation—which is unlikely—I definitely have to go look them up.

"How do I use the data-code to track the Hestia?" Haylan asks, pulling me from my thoughts once again. I can hear that he's annoyed with himself for having to ask me for help the whole time.

"Move up," I order. "It's easier for me to do it myself than to explain to you how." Traitor. Traitor. TRAITOR.

Haylan nods and moves to the side without a fight.

It takes me about two minutes to find what I'm looking for, and I silently thank my mother for forcing me to take Computer Sciences when I started high school.

Thinking of my sweet, fragile mother, and how she might be dead right now, brings tears to my eyes, but I sniff them away angrily.

Crying will not help.

"There," I mutter, moving away again. I point at the pulsing red dot on the monitor to the right. "All you have to do now is follow the map."

The nerve-wracking pain in my leg has returned and it takes everything I have not to scream out in agony.

Haylan, looking oddly bleak all of a sudden, quickly forwards the coordinates to Crim and Caleb without so much as thank you, and they we start moving.

"Do you know where this is?" Caleb asks, squinting at his GPS-screen.

I look at the address closely, and my blood runs cold. "Yeah," I say, but I don't recognize my voice. I then realize why Haylan had gone white when he saw the red dot.

It's the place where I'd seen Fallon for the last time.

The Gen's movements are jerky and uneven, and I hit my head against the metal-frame every time the machine puts its left foot down. I grind my teeth together to keep myself as quiet and impassive as possible.

Once Haylan is used to the steering-mechanism, it doesn't take us long to reach our destination.

Haylan and Fallon Pearce's childhood home. Before they left without telling anyone where they were going.

No-one has lived in that house since the death of Kayla Pearce—Fallon's mother. The yellow paint is peeling off in patches, exposing the drywall beneath; the windows are cracked; the roof is no longer fully tiled; and the once-vibrant front yard is now a sickly shade of brown. Between the multiple pristine, two-storey houses surrounding it, the Pearce-residence looks out of place.

I haven't been back here in three years.

Two Gens are already waiting for us when we arrive: The Athena and the Poseidon.

And after a moment, I see a third and fourth Gen out of the corner of my eye, grasping each other in what looks to be a tight embrace.

When I take a closer look, I see that one is actually on its knees, and the other is standing over it, wielding a long glimmering sword made of radiant blue light.

I quickly realize that the others haven't seen the two fighting Gens yet, and, in an attempt to show Haylan and his co-soldiers that sparing my life after this entire ordeal is over won't be the worst decision in the world, I rip the steering-mechanism out of Haylan's hand and turn the Ares to the right.

Something inside me snaps.

At first, I don't know what it is, but then I realize: It's anger.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Haylan shouts, fighting me to regain control of his machine.

But I don't budge; I will use this war-monstrosity to save my Colony, and myself if possible. If my father won't do his job, I'll have to do it for him.

Fighting through the pain in my leg and the pounding in my head, I push Haylan—weakened considerably my his injured shoulder—aside with all my remaining strength and take his place.

I flip the keyboard down over my lap, press a pair of headphones down over my ears and cover my eyes with the specialized glasses provided.

Images appear in front of my eyes: Weapons, tactics, blueprints of the area, undetailed maps of Nerian's underground, the works.

I pick a set of short-bladed knives from the list of weapons, deciding to strike from the side.

The monitor to my right shows me the two possible outcomes of my decision: I instantly dispatch the enemy and win the battle; or he evades and the charade begins anew. Not really seeing another option, I confirm the attack and take off at a run.

It's a quick, low-risk tactic; at worst, I'll get grazed by the other Gen's sword.

"Which one is the Zeus?" I shout over the deafening sound of the Gen's footsteps slamming down on the pavement. I push the glasses up onto my head to get a better view of the outside world.

"The one with the blue chest-plate," Haylan answers simply. His fingers are white from clutching the side of the machine and there's something in his voice I've never before. Something equivalent to fear, but not quite. "Why?"

I drop the glasses back in front of my eyes mechanically, a new determination controlling my every movement. "Because now I know which one not to hit."

I vaguely hear Caleb utter something that sounds like 'badass', but I'm too focused on finishing the task at hand to pay him any mind.

The word 'traitor', however, is a protester demanding my attention; the more I ignore it, the louder it screams.

With me behind the controls, the Gen moves much smoother, and it doesn't take a lot of effort from my side to move in under the silver Gen and drive one of the knives upward.

The Hestia staggers back, shocked.

"No!" Crim shouts hysterically, the pitch momentarily blinding me. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Prim could be in there!"

I turn my neck sharply, glaring at Crim on the monitor. "My home comes first," I snap, offering no elaboration.

I quickly switch from my one remaining knife to a razor-edged sword, then slide my Gen forward on its knees.

Lashing out with the sword, I cut through the Hestia's right arm, separating it with one blow. Shocked, the other machine topples to the ground.

I hear Crim crying, or screaming, but it's faint, so I ignore it, lifting my sword to drive it into the heart of the Hestia.

But before I can strike, I stop short. What am I doing? I'm not a killer, I'm an Eden; a Nowhere.

Dropping the sword, I take a step back.

"What are you doing?!" Caleb and Haylan shouts in unison.

I force the Gen another two steps back, and then two more, until I'm backed up against the façade of a house; Fallon's house.

The Hestia's pilot, noticing my reluctance to finish the job, draws a gun—the radiant blue sword long forgotten—and takes aim.

The machine's aim is slightly askew, more to the left than where I'm standing, an open target.

"Why is he aiming at the sky?" Haylan wonders aloud, wording what we're all thinking.

With calculating eyes, I use the Ares's targeting-software to pinpoint exactly where the Hestia's bullet will pierce.

The Shield.

Horrible realization dawns on me, then, and my breathing becomes shallow and laboured. "The pilot is going to destroy the Shield," I say grimly.

"But the Shield is what's keeping the Colony aloft and sealed," Caleb says. "Without it, everything in here will be sucked dry. Us included."

"I know that!" I shout. My mind and heart are in a brutal race to see who will explode first. My palms are damp with stress-sweat. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on edge.

"Hayle, do something!" Crim cries, moving in behind one of the bigger houses like a coward.

"Be quiet," I growl. A sort of makeshift plan in starting to form inside my head, and Crim screaming in my ears isn't helping. "I'm going to link the Hestia," I go on, more calmly. "Crim, stay where you are and attack when I say so. Caleb, go help the Zeus; he appears to be needing it."

The pilot of the Zeus—Nickel—is sprawled out on the pavement next to his equally-limp Gen. Blood cling to his hair and uniform.

The poor boy deathly pale.

Caleb nods and cuts the connection.

"Who put you in charge?" Crim complains, less eager to take orders from someone who isn't Haylan.

"Just do it, Crim," Haylan says in a clipped, impatient voice.

With a scowl, Crim agrees. She doesn't cut the link, however, only the video-feed, which is clever, I suppose.

I link the Hestia before its pilot can shoot the only thing keeping Nerian in the air, to pieces.

"I was wondering what took—" the pilot, a boy with familiar brown hair, starts to say, but when he sees me sitting in front of the monitor with Haylan by my side, he stops. "Gray?"

Everything around me freezes. "Hayes? What the hell are you doing inside a Gen?"

Hayes frowns intently. "I could ask you the same thing. Is that a Radical next to you?"

I don't answer, instead, I shove Haylan into the corner; there where Hayes can't see him.

Hayes's features harden.

I sigh, not knowing why I thought that this would make things any better. Just because Hayes can no longer see Haylan, doesn't mean that he's no longer there.

"You son-of-a-bitch," he spits, brown eyes flaring dangerously. "How dare you force her to partake in this pitiful war?"

I've never heard Hayes talk like that before. He's usually so peaceful; so calm and serene and collected. The perfect pacifistic Eden.

The boy sitting in the Gen with a gun pointed at the very thing keeping everyone alive is not the boy I like; he isn't my Adam. He isn't even my friend; as of now, he is my enemy.

"Put your gun down, Hayes," I say, trying to remain calm; reminding myself to stay brave. "You don't want to destroy the Colony any more than I want to shoot you if you do." I swallow past the lump in my throat. "But I will if I have to."

"If this is what it takes to keep you safe, I have no other choice," he says cryptically, and he pulls the trigger.

A scream of rage erupts from my throat. "Crim, now!" I shout.

Precisely four seconds after Crim's machine comes into view, everything in my line of vision goes black.


End file.
